


What We Found

by kathryne



Series: An ordinary hand [3]
Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Post-Season/Series 04, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 10:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13902021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: Grace is cold, but Frankie's there to keep her warm.Part of a post-s4 series of ficlets from tumblr prompts about Grace and Frankie cuddling. These fics are not posted in chronological order, but they are organised that way within the series.





	What We Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Telanu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanu/gifts).



> Telanu prompted me for cuddling 'out of necessity' and also made a _strong case_ for the inclusion of huddling for warmth. :D
> 
> Thanks very much to chainofclovers for beta duties!

"Oh, Jesus. You're kidding." Grace lets herself drop back onto her bed. The landing jars her knee and she winces. 

Frankie shrugs. "Still can't control the weather. Sorry. But at least the view's kinda cool, right?" She gestures out the window of their B&B. The lights of Paris twinkle through the rain-smeared glass. They are very pretty, as the rain turns to snow. But the wind gusts, rattling the single pane, and cold air cuts through the room.

"Not the point," Grace grits out. Doesn't matter what the view is like. She's shivering too hard to appreciate it. 

"Jeez. Don't be such a negative Nancy." Frankie runs her finger through the condensation beading on the inside of the windowpane. 

Grace grips her elbows, hard. "Sorry to ruin your vacation." She's aiming for sarcasm, but her voice trembles – not just from the cold – and Frankie turns. 

Grace doesn't have time to straighten from her pathetic huddle; Frankie, stricken, crosses the room in a rush. She wraps her arms around Grace's shoulders. "You're freezing," she says, apparently surprised.

"Yeah," Grace huffs, only it comes out soft and unsure against Frankie's shirt. Frankie runs her hands up and down Grace's back, and even through two layers she's _warm_. Grace can't help but press closer still. 

"Aw, hell, Grace." Frankie looks at the shaking window, then down at Grace, who's shaking too. "Okay," she says, half to herself, and lets go just long enough to grab the blanket off her own bed. Before Grace can catch her breath, Frankie stretches out, tugs Grace down against her, and whisks the blanket over them both. It's so quick Grace doesn't have time to protest; when she feels Frankie warm behind her, she can't imagine pulling away.

"Sorry we didn't go with the hotel you wanted. This isn't the kinda atmosphere I was aiming for. And it's not exactly the Paris trip you imagined, huh." Frankie's hand rests against Grace's stomach; her breath puffs against Grace's neck. 

Grace shivers, though she's so much warmer, already, everywhere Frankie touches. She steadies her voice. "Better than the last two." Frankie's more thoughtful than Robert ever bothered to be. 

Frankie's quiet for a moment, and Grace stays silent too, luxuriating in the slow spread of heat through her body. 

"Did you dream about Paris, as a kid? Coming here, you know... with someone?" Frankie shifts, and Grace pulls the blanket tighter. 

She did. Teenage Grace dreamed of champagne, romance, the promise of _la Ville lumière_ ; as an adult, she replaced those hopes, choosing instead to focus on actually achievable outcomes. No sense, she learned, in wasted effort.

"Did you?" she asks instead of answering, staring across the room, out the window at the blur of lights. 

"Nah. Too bourgeois." Frankie shrugs, a distracting feeling, pressed up against Grace as she is. "I kinda like this, though. Uh, I mean, fleeing the country, hiding out..."

Grace snorts and rolls over, pressing her cold nose into Frankie's shoulder. She's almost warmed through. "You make 'getting out of town so the kids can't yell at us' sound like a lot more fun than it actually is." She drapes her arm across Frankie's waist and snuggles closer; although she's no longer chilled, she's still trembling. 

"I'm having fun." 

Frankie's response is quick, automatic, Grace thinks, and she snorts again. "Yeah, right. Stuck inside playing space heater for me instead of out sightseeing." She pulls back reluctantly. "Look, if you want to go build a snowman or something, don't let me stop you."

Frankie grabs her hip, stilling her, and Grace looks up, startled.

"I don't wanna be anywhere else but here," Frankie says, like a confession.

"Frankie, don't." She can't take Frankie's teasing, not tonight, when they're so close, when she's so far from privacy or solitude. But she can't turn away. Frankie's eyes are so blue.

"Grace." Frankie's hand on her hip softens, slides up to the curve of her waist. She doesn't look sly or smug or like she's pushing just to see how far Grace will let her go. She looks, actually, a little scared. "I mean it."

"Don't," Grace repeats in a whisper. And Frankie doesn't. She doesn't say anything – but she doesn't retreat, either, just stays there, entwined with Grace under their blanket, warm and steady. 

Steady. Four years ago, Grace never would have used that word to describe Frankie. Now she's the only constant in Grace's life. She's always there – and Grace doesn't want her to be anywhere else, either.

"Oh." The sound slips unbidden from Grace, and Frankie twitches, but doesn't blink. 

Grace's hand is on Frankie's arm. She meant to push them apart. Instead she draws her hand up, over Frankie's shoulder, cups her chin and strokes her cheek. Frankie leans into Grace's touch; her fingers tremble against Grace's waist. 

"Frankie, don't joke," Grace says tightly. "Don't – can I?" Daring, she runs her thumb over Frankie's lower lip. "Please?"

The silence stretches, and Grace is terrified like she hasn't been since – maybe since Frankie had her stroke. Maybe ever. And then, finally, Frankie nods, her eyes bright. Her lips part under Grace's thumb. She leans down, Grace leans up, and they're kissing.

Grace has kissed Frankie's forehead, her cheeks, even her fingers during the absurd conversation that sparked this trip. But kissing Frankie's mouth – Frankie kissing her back – the sensation settles in Grace's belly and spreads, the answer to a craving so long unfilled its hollowness had come to seem normal. She smiles against Frankie's lips, and Frankie smiles too, until they have to break apart just to look at each other.

"Still cold?" Frankie asks, stroking Grace's back, slow and lazy.

"No," Grace says, nuzzling Frankie's neck. She wants to kiss there, so she does, gratified by Frankie's sharp inhale. "No, I'm perfect," she murmurs against Frankie's skin.

"Oh. Good." Frankie clutches at Grace's sweater. "Uh. _Vive la France_?"

Her accent's atrocious. But she sounds pretty breathless, so Grace decides to let it slide.


End file.
